The Freedom Star Part 27

_____.

Tempie's plain cotton dress pulled tightly against her stomach as she bent and lifted the large Dutch oven from the fireplace and struggled to carry it to the table.

Florence wiped her eye. Lord, that child's been hiding it good up to now, but not even a loose dress could cover that tummy no more. She couldn't put off talking with her any longer.

Tempie set the iron kettle on the table and began ladling black-eyed peas and pork knuckles into tin plates. Isaac and Joseph would be in from the fields soon, and Banjo always appeared whenever food was served.

Florence wiped flour from her hands and faced her daughter. "Getting close?"

Tempie looked up, her eyebrows raised in a question.

Florence pointed at her stomach. "Be time for birthing soon, by the looks of things."

Tempie slid her hand across her stomach, slowly smoothing her dress. She held her gaze with Florence for only a moment, then dropped onto the wooden bench beside the table and lowered her head, covering her eyes. "Mama," she sobbed, "I don't know what's happening to me. I's scared . . ."

Florence knelt and wrapped her arms around her baby's shoulders, pulling her close. "Now child, don't you fret none. Everything's gonna be just fine, your mama will see to that."

Tempie buried her face in Florence's shoulder and clung tightly. "Oh, Mama, I's so scared . . ."

Florence stroked her hair and rocked her slowly, trying to hush Tempie's sobs. "You ain't the first girl to find herself in a family way, child. Everything's gonna turn out just fine, you'll see. Does Cato know?"

Tempie sat back and took in a deep breath, wiping her eyes with the palm of her hand. "Ain't his baby."

Not Cato's? Florence held her at arm's length and studied her little girl. "Who then . . . ?"

Tempie shook her head slowly, then burrowed into her mother's arms. The tears began anew. Florence held her tightly, patting her shoulder. "Everything be fine, child. Don't you fret. When you's ready, we'll talk."

_____.

Thunder rumbled through the night, chasing a pair of doves from the treetops along the creek. Rain began to fall, splas.h.i.+ng against Isaac's uplifted face and splattering against the dry, dusty road. "Thank you, Lord," he whispered. A good storm might keep those pattyrollers in their homes, not out looking.

Heading south, Isaac crossed rolling tobacco fields, finally pausing along the muddy banks of the slow moving Dan River. If he followed the river upstream, he'd be in Milton come daybreak. In the distance, a dog's bark pierced the quiet pattering of raindrops on the leaves overhead. Most likely it was just some cur treeing a possum. Still, he'd best be careful. Tonight, Isaac needed to think like a pattyroller.

He followed the river, das.h.i.+ng across open fields and picking his way through dense thickets, always listening for the patrols. Finally, as the rain eased, a pink glow touched the eastern sky. Directly across the river lay the town of Milton. Mr. Jones would be awake and cooking breakfast. Isaac could grab some food and hide out until nightfall. He slid down the muddy bank and slipped into the cool water.

_____.

The glow of an oil lamp cast shadows through the bunkhouse window onto the wet gra.s.s. Isaac eased the latch open and poked his head inside the door. "Hey, does you have some bacon for a poor, hungry soul?"

"Lordy! Gabriel, wake up!" Mr. Jones hollered. "Look at this here river rat what's come a-begging at our door."

Gabriel hopped out of bed and grabbed Isaac by the shoulders. "Boy, you gave us a scare. We took you for dead, then Mr. Day told us you got caught by that pattyroller. Is you back with us again?"

Isaac closed the door behind him and took a seat at the table. "Not here for long, I just need a place to hide."

"Lord, you's in trouble, ain't ya, boy?" Gabriel scowled. "You running?"

"Not north," Isaac said. "I sneaked off to see Raleigh. Last I seen her was before I was put in that jail."

Mr. Jones set a plate of eggs and squirrel in front of Isaac, then took a plate for himself and sat across the table. "Mr. Day said that constable down Yanceyville tried to sell you south."

"Sure enough," Isaac replied. "Perkins, the fella what was locked up with me, he got sold, then the men what bought him shot him down when he tried to run. He said he weren't never going back to them cotton fields." Isaac poked at his food, glancing up as Gabriel took a seat next to Mr. Jones. "Pa got sold south too."

Gabriel rested his elbows the table. "Thought you said your white folks didn't sell their nigras."

"Everything's done changed," Isaac said. "Ma.s.sa McConnell got took with the apoplexy and now Ma.s.sa Patrick's running the farm. He favors whipping and selling."

"So, what's you gonna do?" Gabriel asked.

Isaac wiped his mouth on his sleeve. "I can't be staying on that farm much longer. Henry's off fighting the war, and that Patrick, he's no good. I *spect I'll visit Raleigh some, then get on back before I's missed-but I'll be running again, and soon."

"North?"

"I been thinking some on that," Isaac said. He pointed at Gabriel with his fork. "I hear tell there's a pa.s.sel of runaways hiding over in that Dismal Swamp. I *spect it'll be easier to get there than to go north, what with all that fighting going on."

Gabriel nodded. "I heard about them maroons over in the swamps. Knew a fella two years ago, he lit out for there. Ain't heard if'n he made it, but he never showed up *round these parts no more."

"Get some rest while I cleans up." Mr. Jones gathered the plates. "What's Raleigh gonna say about you running? I thought she don't want no runaway for her man."

"Don't know what she'll say, but I can't be staying at that McConnell farm no more and take the chance of being sold." Isaac climbed into the same bunk he used when he worked for Mr. Day. "That Dismal Swamp is a whole lot closer to the Promised Land than Mississippi is. Maybe I'll find my way north, get behind them Yankee lines." He rested his forearm over his eyes. "If I's sleeping, will you wake me come evening?"

_____.

"Isaac, whatever am I to do with you?"

The familiar voice shook Isaac from his slumber. A lantern bathed the bunkroom in light. He rubbed his eyes and sat up.

"h.e.l.lo, Isaac." Thomas stood by the table holding a cigar.

Isaac glanced quickly at Gabriel, seated across the table.

"No," Thomas said, "they didn't tell me you were here. I stumbled upon you quite by accident. So, to what do we owe the pleasure?"

Isaac rubbed the back of his neck. "I come to see Raleigh."

Thomas smiled. "Ah, yes. *Pains of love be sweeter far than all other pleasures are.'"

Isaac shrugged and shook his head.

"Never mind." Thomas waved his hand. "Just a verse from long ago. But your quest, I fear, is for naught. She no longer lives here."

"She don't?" Isaac jumped to his feet.

"No," Thomas said. "Mr. Patterson pa.s.sed away six months ago. Mrs. Patterson's brother came down from Philadelphia and took her north. He stopped by to settle the Patterson's account and told me they were sailing out of Wilmington on a blockade-runner, and that Raleigh was going with them."

Isaac walked to the window. The reflection of the lamp in the gla.s.s hid the evening sky outside. Philadelphia? He pondered the news for a moment before turning back to Thomas. "I'd best be getting back to the farm before I's missed."

"What about that swamp?" Mr. Jones asked. He leaned on one elbow and looked up from his bunk.

Should they talk about such things in front of Thomas? It wouldn't matter- Thomas wasn't calling out any patrollers. "I reckon I needs to be finding my way to Philadelphia."

"That could be quite risky," Thomas said, gesturing with his cigar. "Do be careful."

"I ain't worked out the particulars on traveling north," Isaac said, "but I's becoming downright gifted when it comes to fooling them pattyrollers."

"Just the same, use caution," Thomas said, placing his hand on Isaac's shoulder. "For your sake as well as Raleigh's." He looked Isaac in the eye and smiled.

_____.

Clouds softened the night shadows, blending trees and bushes into dark, indistinct forms. Ground still wet from the previous day's rain muted Isaac's footfalls as he followed the river toward South Boston.

After several hours, Isaac reached the covered bridge, its arch looming above the dark river. Creeping as close as he dared, he eyed the small hut on the far side. Was the bridge keeper sleeping? A patchwork of planks, cross beams, and shadows crisscrossed the inside of the bridge. Isaac stepped carefully, masking his footsteps. He was almost halfway across when the loud "clop" of horse's hoofs suddenly echoed through the cavernous structure. Behind him, the silhouette of a carriage filled the far opening. He couldn't run-too much noise-and he'd be seen. Isaac slid over the low fence dividing the two lanes and lay p.r.o.ne, pressing himself against the fence. Lie still-become another shadow.

The sound of hoofs grew louder. Soon, the carriage was beside him. Then, just as quickly, it rolled on toward the far end of the bridge. Isaac remained frozen against the fence as the carriage stopped for its driver to pay the toll. No question, the bridge keeper was now awake for sure. Isaac had best stay put until he'd settled back to sleep. A lantern flickered near the keeper's shack, then darkness.

Isaac lay on the hard boards, staring at traces of sky visible through cracks in the roof. What about Pa? Would he ever return? Isaac's chances of getting to Philadelphia were better than the odds of Pa escaping those cotton fields. Was that bridge keeper back to sleeping? Isaac pushed to his hands and knees, watching the far end. Finally, in a crouch, he slipped quietly across the remainder of the bridge.

A shortcut across fields brought him to the post road, then a few more miles of easy walking placed him at the end of the lane leading to the McConnell farm. The glow of dawn warmed the eastern sky.

Home. Isaac relaxed and strolled up the familiar lane. Field hands stirred as he pa.s.sed the slave quarters.

"Morning Isaac. What's you doing down these parts so early? You in the fields today?"

"Just pa.s.sing, Aunt Lilly. I *spect I'll be down to the fields soon enough." He waved and continued walking. Rounding the corner at the drying sheds, he met Henry coming down the lane on horseback.

Henry reined his horse. "Where you been?"

"Down to the quarters," Isaac said.

"And last night?"

"Been around."

"You run off?" Henry said. "'Cause if you did, I could have you whipped, you know that?"

"Now you's sounding like a real McConnell," Isaac said. "Just like your brother. Go ahead, fetch your whip."

Henry lowered his voice. "d.a.m.n you, Isaac, I could-and he would. How am I going to keep him off your back if you go and run off? You know he was asking about you yesterday?" Henry pointed a gloved finger. "You know that?"

"What did Ma.s.sa Patrick want with Isaac?"

"Big Jim couldn't find you when it was time to go to the fields, so he reported you missing. Patrick came to me and I told him I had you running an errand."

"Isaac don't need n.o.body making up stories for him . . ."

Henry raised his hands. "d.a.m.n it, shut up and listen. McConnells have been protecting you and yours for better than a hundred years. Lately you've been throwing about ideas that have me thinking hard. We may be slave owners, but we're not the evil tyrants that you make us out to be. You and me have been friends for as long as I can remember, and because we're friends I spend nights worrying about what you've been saying. Maybe things do need changing, but maybe you just need to sit tight until this d.a.m.n war's done with. I leave tomorrow to rejoin my unit and I won't be able to change anything between now and then."

"Take me with you."

"What?"

"You said Isaac could go with you, cook your food. Take me with you."

_____.

"You don't want me selling that troublemaker? Fine, go ahead, take him. It'll be one less headache." Patrick leaned from the saddle and cut off a top leaf, rolling the tobacco between his palms. He cupped the balled leaf in his hands and sniffed.

Henry's head pounded. Nausea swept over him as the sun beat down on the back of his neck. He was still weak, maybe too weak for this confrontation, but after Patrick raised the question of selling Isaac, he couldn't simply let the comment pa.s.s. "I will. He's mine anyway, Papa said so back on my sixteenth birthday."

"Fine. Go." Patrick waved dismissively with the back of his hand.

Henry reined his horse as it s.h.i.+ed away from the sudden motion. "And what of Big Jim?"

"What about him?"

"What gives you the authority to let Sean go? He's been a fine overseer for better'n eight years and he was Papa's choice. You had no right to turn him out without my say so."

"You want a say in things," Patrick said, "stop playing soldier and start helping around here. See those bugs?" He pointed to a stalk next to Henry's boot. "You want to take part in managing this farm, how about you start by gathering up all the women and children who are loafing down there at the slave quarters and get their lazy a.s.ses out here pulling tobacco bugs."

Henry wiped his brow with his sleeve. "You tell Big Jim if he lays a hand-or a whip-on any more McConnell slaves, he'll answer to me, and he'll be the one being sold."

_____.

"It ain't our war," Florence said.

"Ain't gonna fight, Mama, just cook, and when the time's right, I'll be slipping behind them Yankees and heading on up to Pennsylvania."

Isaac continued gobbling his eggs and ham. Of course he was right. Nothing held him there, not now. She'd be running too, except when Abraham escaped-and he would-he'd be coming back there. She had to wait. "You's right, boy. Your mama just worries-all that shooting and killing, some bullet might find you, even if you's hiding real good."

Isaac wiped his mouth on his sleeve. "Cooking, Mama. Not fighting, cooking. Isaac ain't gonna be nowhere near the battle. I'll be back in the camps."

"How will you know when to cross over, when to head north?" She asked.

"Ain't certain, but I reckon the good Lord will give me a sign," Isaac replied. "For sure, I'll be a whole lot safer traveling north with Ma.s.sa Lee's army than on that underground railroad. I don't need no pa.s.s if I's with Ma.s.sa Lee."

Florence smiled. "You'll be in freedom's land come Christmas, I just knows you will. How you gonna find Raleigh?"

"Mr. Day gave me an address. I has it memorized." Isaac frowned. "Will you and Tempie be all right?"

"Your sister will be having her baby most any time. She still ain't talking none about it. I reckon she's just feeling shamed. Me and Joseph, we'll take good care of her. Here, these is for your trip." She handed him several warm biscuits wrapped in a bandanna. "Ma.s.sa Henry said you'd be riding a train. I ain't never rode no train before . . ."

"Ain't never rode no train, neither, Mama, but I come close one time." Isaac smiled and put his arms around Florence.

She held him close, burying her face in his chest. Lord, he was almost as tall as his pa. She squeezed tightly, then stepped back, still holding him as she fought back the tears. "You be careful, Isaac, you be real careful, and I prays the Lord be with you."